A PSALM OF DAVID. When he fled from his son Absalom.
1O LORD, how many are my foes!
How many rise up against me!
2Many are saying of me,
“God will not deliver him.”
Selah
3But you are a shield around me, O LORD;
you bestow glory on me and lift up my head.
4To the LORD I cry aloud,
and he answers me from his holy hill.
Selah
5I lie down and sleep;
I wake again, because the LORD sustains me.
6I will not fear the tens of thousands
drawn up against me on every side.
7Arise, O LORD!
Deliver me, O my God!
Strike all my enemies on the jaw;
break the teeth of the wicked.
8From the LORD comes deliverance.
May your blessing be on your people.
Selah
Original Meaning
THIS PSALM PRESENTS us with a number of “firsts” in the Psalter. It is the first psalm to exhibit a psalm heading, and that heading contains the first genre designation attached to a psalm (mizmor),1 the first attribution to David (ledawid),2 and the first description of the historical setting in David’s life thought to have occasioned the writing of a psalm.3 In the body of the psalm is the first occurrence of the rather enigmatic term selah to structure the composition (vv. 2, 4, 8). Finally, Psalm 3 is by type the first lament to appear in the Psalter (see the discussion of this type of psalm in the section on “Types of Psalms” in the Introduction; also see the discussion on “The Laments” at the end of this chapter).
The Heading (3:0)
WHILE THE HISTORICAL notice in the psalm heading relates this lament to the occasion of David’s nocturnal flight from Jerusalem to escape the attacking forces of his rebellious son Absalom (2 Sam. 15–16), there is no specific reference to that event in the text of the psalm. It is a rather general plea for deliverance from enemies, who are here described as “many” (v. 1) and “ten of thousands” (v. 6), but never identified. This has led some to doubt whether the psalm was created in response to that specific event, while others go so far as to deny Davidic authorship altogether.
Our interpretation and application of this psalm is not severely affected, regardless of how one resolves that issue. While linking the psalm with the event in 2 Samuel 15–16 may offer some insight into the internal mindset of David at the time, that is more helpful for understanding the Absalom narrative than for interpreting the psalm. The psalm stands up on its own strength, and indeed, the attempt to spell out the specifics of the setting behind the distress of the psalmist and to identify the enemy precisely as Absalom often has the unfortunate effect of so fixing the historical reference that the reader is distanced even further from the psalm and hindered from appropriating its insights for personal application. If this is merely a psalm describing David’s response to a personal circumstance centuries—even millennia—ago, why ought I to assume that this psalm can influence the way I respond today to my own situations of distress? It may well be that the 150 psalms included in the canonical collection were chosen (for the most part) precisely because they were not so tied to specific historical situations as to inhibit their appropriation and application in any day and age.
The psalm is divided into three sections by the appearance of the Hebrew word selah at the close of each section. This word is generally thought to indicate a pause in the musical presentation of the psalm, or perhaps an instrumental interlude. In any case, the appearance of selah seems most often to correspond with structural divisions within a text and can be helpful in understanding the various components of a poem. For Psalm 3, exclusive of the heading, the three divisions thus concluded by selah are (1) verses 1–2; (2) verses 3–4; and (3) verses 5–8. Each section exhibits a cohesive theme, and together the three sections offer coherent movement in the psalm.
Surrounded by the Enemy (3:1–2)
THE PSALMIST IS surrounded, hemmed in by many foes. There are a number of Hebrew words used to describe enemies. The most common (ʾoyeb) means “one who hates [me].” That is not, however, the term used here. Instead, the psalmist describes the enemy with the word ṣar (“oppressor”), from a root that emphasizes narrowness or constriction. The reference may be to hand-to-hand military struggle in the heat of battle. One can almost sense the panic as the psalmist, turning this way and that, seeking a way out, sees only the multitude of enemies pressing ever closer, about to overwhelm. Perhaps the image is of being tightly bound and unable to escape—something like what the victim of the boa constrictor experiences as the relentless coils draw ever tighter, cutting off escape and crushing life.
The enemy is not only numerous but is constantly multiplying. The word translated “many” in verse 1a is a verb meaning “have become many, have multiplied.” Again, the psalmist is not recounting a static circumstance of oppression but a dangerously escalating situation that threatens imminently to consume the psalmist. This sense of threat is increased by the realization in verse 1b that the multiplying horde of encompassing enemies is rising en masse to confront the psalmist. As they do so to strike down their foe, the “many” spew forth invectives calculated both to embolden themselves and to demoralize the psalmist at the very core of his being.
The Hebrew nepeš, translated in the NIV as “[of] me,” has often been translated “soul” and was sometimes confused with that distinct, separate, and eternal spiritual part of the human being that survives the body after death.4 This word, however, portrays much more accurately the essential being of humans, animated by God at creation (Gen. 2:7); in the Hebrew way of thinking, the nepeš cannot be separated from the physical body. To speak to one’s own nepeš is to consider the most deeply held beliefs, needs, desires, and hopes that characterize a being physically, emotionally, or spiritually. To speak to another’s nepeš is to seek to exercise influence and control over that person at the deepest level (cf. Pss. 11:1; 35:3). Thus, as the many enemies of the psalmist rush together to snuff out his life, their cry is intended to shake him to the very roots—to leave him naked and vulnerable to their attack: “God will not deliver him.”5
The deliverance to which the enemies refer here in their arrogant denial of its possibility is that associated with the Hebrew word yešuaʿ,6 the most common term employed in the Old Testament to express the general idea of salvation or deliverance. The core meaning of the term denotes removing restriction and providing room—a most appropriate connotation in the context of this psalm.7 What the psalmist desires most as the enemies close in for the kill is room, space to breathe, maneuver, perhaps even escape. This is what the opponents intend to deny.
It is also notable that in their denying deliverance to the narrator of the psalm, the enemies cannot bring themselves to name the name of the psalmist’s God—Yahweh. Instead, they substitute the more generic designation ʾelohim (“God”). Might this suggest that the enemies here are unbelievers or pagans rather than opponents from within the believing community? There is a tendency in the psalms to resist putting the divine name Yahweh in the mouth of pagans or severe unbelievers.8
The enemies’ cry as they close in on the psalmist brings the first section of this psalm to a conclusion dominated by threat. Their taunt dramatically poses the question the psalmist must resolve in the face of this threat and to which he will return directly at the end of the psalm: “Does Yahweh deliver?”
A Shield Around Me (3:3–4)
THE PSALMIST IS undefeated by the attempt to undermine and demoralize him. Faced with the real and immediate threat the enemies represent, confronted with their contention that Yahweh can provide no escape from their relentless pursuit, the psalmist does not flee, nor does he capitulate in silence. Instead, he responds with a cry of his own—directed not to the enemies but to God himself. The cry of confidence that issues from his lips has the distinct appearance of hindsight gained after the fact of actual deliverance. In recalling the event, the psalmist remarks what he could not have known in the midst of the conflict: that Yahweh would hear and respond. The psalmist’s cry is introduced by the adversative phrase “But you . . . O LORD” and begins to counter the enemies’ confident assumption that they control the outcome of the situation.
Shield. The opening phrase of the psalmist’s cry is entirely appropriate to the rather military context I have sketched out above. “But you are a shield around me, O LORD.” Confronted by impending destruction, the psalmist calls on his God as a protective barrier to inhibit and frustrate those who plan to do him harm. The term magen used here normally refers to a smaller round shield held in the hand and designed to protect the arm and upper torso of the soldier in battle9 while permitting freedom of movement to maneuver and counterattack. Yahweh, however, is complete protection—a magen that surrounds the psalmist before and behind.
Glory. The second phrase of the psalmist’s cry for help is somewhat less expected. While the need for protection is clear, the description of Yahweh as the psalmist’s “glory”10 and the one who “lifts up my head” is more obscure in this context. The Hebrew term kabod (“glory”) is used most often of God, though it can also on occasion refer to humans. Human glory is that recognizable dignity or honor a person can lay claim to in public circles. Some humans receive glory by virtue of their status (e.g., the king) or wealth and sartorial splendor; others are recognized because of their wisdom or righteousness. But for all humans there is a basic human dignity conferred by God (cf. Ps. 8:3–8, esp. v. 5). Any kind of human glory or dignity, whether basic or elevated, divinely given or conferred by public opinion, is at risk when the enemies seek to destroy the psalmist’s very nepeš. So in our context, when the psalmist’s own glory is under attack, he recognizes that his only hope is in the unimpeachable honor and dignity supplied and guaranteed by Yahweh alone.
Lift up my head. Yahweh is the giver of dignity and also the one who lifts up the head of the psalmist. Lifting the head is a public indication of dignity and honor. For the king to lift one’s head is a sign of acceptance and approval (cf. Gen. 40:13)—in studied contrast to the common symbolic act of publicly subjugating enemies by putting one’s foot on their necks as they lie prostrate. To lift one’s own head, by contrast, is to be guilty of pride and arrogance. Confronted by the threat of the enemies, the psalmist acknowledges the vulnerability of his own honor and dignity in these circumstances and turns in confidence to the true source of glory and the establisher of human dignity: Yahweh.
What the beleaguered psalmist is looking for is a public demonstration of support from Yahweh in the presence of the enemies’ onslaught—something akin to the anointing of the head in the presence of one’s enemies mentioned in Psalm 23 (a participle from the Hebrew root srr, related to the noun used in our text), or to a present-day ruler speaking out in behalf of a cabinet appointee under attack by a political opponent. Such a request seems more appropriate in a setting of political conflict than an actual military engagement and suggests the hand-to-hand combat imagery is just that: a figurative description rather than depiction of a military conflict.
I cry aloud. Having established the foundation of Yahweh’s good intent to maintain the dignity and honor of the faithful, the psalmist continues with a statement of confidence. “To the LORD I cry aloud, and he answers me from his holy hill.” The passage is perhaps better rendered as a conditional sentence: “Whenever I cry aloud . . . he answers me. . . .” This implies that the psalmist’s confidence is grounded in previous experience of divine deliverance. As Yahweh has protected in the past, so he can be trusted to save in the present—no matter how hopeless the circumstances.
Despite the sense of confidence exuded in these verses, the psalmist is not naively unrealistic about the dangers encountered in the present. The threat is real and about to have drastic consequences. The Hebrew construction emphasizes that the psalmist’s plea for divine help is an audible shout, as one might expect in the heat of battle or if one were attacked on the street. Yahweh’s answer comes immediately “from his holy hill”—a probable reference to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem on which the Israelite temple stood. The whole hill was considered holy ground, not just the temple itself. Before approaching the Temple Mount, worshipers took care to consider their moral preparedness (cf. Ps. 24) and to undergo ceremonial washing to symbolize their repentance and cleansing of sin.
Just what form Yahweh’s answer took is not clear in this psalm. Some suggest a ritual background in which a priest or prophet utters God’s promise of deliverance to the supplicant. Once again, this may suggest the psalmist is using descriptive imagery of the battle to dramatize the real conflict he is experiencing. The selah in verse 4 marks the end of the second section of Psalm 3.
The Realization of Deliverance (3:5–8)
THE FINAL SEGMENT of the psalm exudes an almost eerie sense of confidence and security. As a result of the perception gained in the preceding verses that Yahweh is the unshakable source of human dignity and honor, the psalmist is able to “lie down and sleep” without fear of the multitude of enemies arrayed against him. Although his opponents are “drawn up . . . on every side,” the psalmist can rely on the God who is “a shield around me” (v. 3) to protect his honor and establish his dignity.
Lie down and sleep. Some suggest this reference to lying down, sleeping, and awaking indicates the psalmist’s participation in a ritual known as incubation, a form of supplication in which supplicants spent the night in the temple before God seeking his mercy and deliverance. Alternatively, the psalmist, unable to stay awake to protect himself from the looming enemies, is nevertheless sustained by God so that he rises again in the morning unharmed.
I will not fear. The psalmist now interprets to the hearer the picture of confident rest in the midst of insecurity hinted at in the preceding verse. In a situation calculated by the enemy to invoke fear, the psalmist is unshaken. In the face of unimaginable odds (“tens of thousands”) the psalmist, who has recognized Yahweh’s protective strength and good intent to maintain human dignity and honor, is unafraid.
Arise, O LORD! From the depiction of confident rest, earnest supplication, and divine protection of the exhausted psalmist in verses 5–6, the psalmist turns at last to the plea for deliverance anticipated from the opening verses. Unlike the earlier reflection of his hindsight reported in verse 4, this later plea shows no awareness that God has already answered the psalmist’s cry. Here the psalmist, still desperate for deliverance, adjures Yahweh in imperative terms to come to his aid and frustrate the plans of the enemy. “Arise, O LORD!”
The phrase used here (qumah yhwh) employs an unusual form of the second-person imperative of the verb qum with an ending added that is often described as intensifying the force of the imperative. This particular form occurs only sixteen times in the Old Testament. Of these sixteen, thirteen are pleas directed to God for deliverance (with ten of these thirteen found in the Psalter).11 The imperative denotes a command to “get up” from a sedentary position in preparation for action. One might call others to prepare to depart on a journey, participate in an attack, or ask God to act in judgment or deliverance. The emphasis is that the anticipated action will follow the rising immediately. The use of the phrase here underscores the psalmist’s desire to have Yahweh act in his behalf—now!
Strike all my enemies on the jaw. The psalmist envisions Yahweh as intervening like a champion warrior in the battle fray, striking out right and left with a battle mace or club. While striking the jaw seems like an appropriate action in hand-to-hand combat, a further nuance is involved. Striking someone on the jaw (or cheek)12 was a means of public disgrace and humiliation. In 1 Kings 22:24, the arrogant court prophet Zedekiah slapped Micaiah on the cheek after Micaiah had prophesied disaster for the king’s military campaign against Ramoth Gilead. In Micah 5:1, the prophet declares how besieging enemies will “strike Israel’s ruler on the cheek.” Elsewhere (Job 16:10; Lam. 3:30) striking the cheek is considered a form of public disgrace. Once again it seems as if the psalmist is seeking public vindication—this time by turning the humiliation and disgrace the enemies intended for the psalmist back against them.
Additionally, to “break the teeth” is sometimes associated with ending the almost inhumane treatment by the wicked of those who call out to God for deliverance. The wicked can be described as ravenous lions mauling the righteous (cf. Joel 1:6), and breaking the teeth is a way to disarm them and to make them drop their innocent prey (Job 29:17; Ps. 58:6).
Deliverance . . . blessing. The final verse of this psalm encapsulates and drives home the essential message of the whole: Deliverance and blessing come only from Yahweh. At the end the psalmist confronts what the enemies claimed in verse 2: “God will not deliver him.” This assertion is effectively countered throughout the psalm and especially here by the psalmist’s dogged refusal to be swayed from the recognition that “deliverance belongs to the LORD.”13 Regardless of the multitude of enemies surrounding and closing in, despite their arrogant rejection of the possibility of deliverance, the psalmist remains confident in the good intent of Yahweh to deliver and even to bless the faithful.
The final verse of the psalm reflects how an essentially individual psalm was expanded to the broader concern of the community. In these final phrases, it is not just the psalmist but the whole people of God who declare what the psalmist has affirmed and exhibited in his own experience: “Deliverance belongs to the LORD!” Together they affirm through their concluding petition that he also is the only source and hope of “blessing” for those who are called his people.
MILITARY LANGUAGE. MANY of us may have difficulty with the militant and military language in much of this psalm. Some may never have served in a military setting or experienced battle or hand-to-hand combat. We may never have experienced an enemy attack on our land. We may be ardently opposed to war and violence in all its forms. As a result, much of the experience of the psalmist may seem alien to us and the warlike language offensive to those who affirm the Christian faith in the words of Jesus, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matt. 5:44).
But war, violence, and the consequences of both were not unfamiliar to the ancient Israelites. A glance through the pages of their recollected history from Genesis through Esther illustrates how greatly their communal memory was affected by centuries of war, oppression, and violence. Abraham had to gird on his sword and gather his militia to rescue his nephew Lot from the clutches of the four kings who carried him off (Gen. 14). Moses led the Israelites to flee the oppression of the Egyptian pharaohs (Exodus). Joshua directed the conquest campaign against the armies and peoples of Canaan (Joshua). The book of Judges records the constant cycle of oppression of Israel by foreign powers punctuated by periods of peace brought on by the military success of such leaders as Deborah and Barak, Gideon, and even Samson. The official national history of Israel written down in the books of Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles is replete with descriptions of how the Israelites’ struggles against foreign oppression—both victory and defeat—defined their experience with Yahweh and their faithfulness to him.
Thus, we must remember that regardless of how foreign and unfamiliar these words and images seem to us, they were not alien to the Israelites who recorded this history and who sang these psalms. Political and military maneuvering and struggle were almost a commonplace in Israel’s experience and certainly provided a defining understanding of their relationship to God.
Those who have experienced the violence of military conflict, the threat of invasion, or the tightening noose of siege will have less difficulty empathizing with the experience of the psalmist, if not fully with his sentiments. But even those of us who do not share such experiences need not be unduly distanced from the words and meaning of this psalm. There are indications within the psalm itself that the psalmist may be drawing on military language as dramatic images to speak to a circumstance that is less military and more political or social in nature.
The fact that the psalmist’s chief concern in verse 3 seems to be with the preservation of honor and dignity rather than life seems to suggest a more metaphorical or figurative understanding of the military imagery. Rather than deliverance from actual life-threatening military combat, the psalmist is seeking public affirmation of his dignity and honor and the concomitant discrediting of his opponents. This is perhaps a situation that more of us recognize: our sense of personal dignity and honor questioned or attacked, the fear (or reality) of public ridicule, and anger at those who accuse us falsely or undermine us maliciously. These are experiences that most of us can acknowledge as our own or at least understand. In these instances it is not difficult for us to leap over the centuries and to find ways to apply the psalmist’s experience of threat, oppression, and violation to our own time and place.
Understanding invectives. But when it comes to the sentiments the psalmist expresses, we may continue to have difficulty. True, we can understand his fear and panic, we can relate to his ardent plea for deliverance, we may even be able to share his confident expectation that God will answer and does bless. Yet, when the psalmist turns his words against his enemies and asks God to “strike [them] on the jaw” and “break the teeth of the wicked,” some of us will have more difficulty, because we feel constrained as Christians from demonstrating such desire for retribution on our enemies. We are not to retaliate with evil for evil but to return good for evil (Rom. 12:17–19). When slapped on one cheek, we are called to respond by turning the other (Matt. 5:39). We are to love our enemies and pray for them (Matt. 5:44). Such commands may leave us more than a little uncomfortable with the psalmist’s violent desires for his enemies.
Let me offer two possible reactions to this lack of comfort we often feel. (1) If we are really honest with ourselves—down at the core of our being, where only we and God truly know ourselves—we will have to admit, I think, that sometimes we too feel the kind of anger (sometimes even hatred!) against those who have unjustly abused and belittled us. This is not simply an example (as it has sometimes been explained) of Old Testament, pre-Christ ignorance. It is not that the Israelites (whom the psalmist represents) just did not understand what God truly wanted because they had not yet experienced the gracious love and mercy of God poured out on sinful humanity through the work of Jesus. It is not simply that the Israelites were fiercely loyal to their nation as the one embodiment of the people of God and therefore viewed their own enemies as the enemies of God—and deserving of judgment. While there may be a germ of truth in these claims, it is just too easy to distort them and as a result to miss the challenge these verses make to our own moments of anger and hatred.
(2) We must take a closer look at how the Old Testament uses these particular phrases: “strike on the jaw” and “break the teeth.” On at least two occasions (Job 29:17; Ps. 58:6), the image describes breaking the teeth of an attacking lion in order to free the prey from its grasp. In such a case the act is not conceived as retribution or vengeance but the necessary act to break the death grip and save the life of the victim. The psalmist of Psalm 3 feels encircled and constricted—approaching death. His call can be understood more as a cry for freedom than for vengeance on the enemy.
Contemporary Significance
UNDER ATTACK. THIS psalm confronts us on a number of fronts. It challenges us with its clear message that the life of the faithful is not a life free from the pain of attack from those who oppose us. None of us desires to be attacked. None of us enjoys the experience when it happens. The attack on the psalmist, however, is of the most severe kind. Not only does it seek to destroy his dignity and honor, but it tries to undermine his very confidence in the good intent of God to bless and save.
Sometimes when we are under attack by a particularly proficient enemy—one who knows us well enough to recognize and exploit our weak spots—we can begin to question our own worth to others, to ourselves, even to God. We live in a world where verbal, psychological, and even physical abuse seem to be commonplace. Neither family nor friends, nor even the church, is above suspicion. The result of having our spirit violated by those we trust is more than anger; often our sense of self is undermined as well. As a result, many go about with questions concerning their value and worth. Often we feel wrong even when we are not. When we take stock of ourselves, we may not see much God would want to save. Our inward uncertainty becomes as strong and as destructive as the outer attacks of the enemy. We can be too easily persuaded that the enemy’s line is right: “God will not deliver you.”
At moments like these—and for some these moments can stretch on for a lifetime—we need to tap into the vision the psalmist holds on to in this psalm, namely, a vision of human honor and dignity that proceeds from God and can only be made real in the heart of each individual by God himself lifting up the head of the person under attack. As long as our dignity and honor come from what we are able to do and accomplish or from what others around us think, we are standing on shifting ground and are unprotected from attack. Human beings fail and public opinion—even that of our closest friends and family—is too often fickle. Only God provides the shield that is both before and behind. Only he is our glory and the lifter of our head.
From another direction, the enemy’s shout challenges us by denying that God is willing or able to meet our need. The enemy’s cry does not only mean that you are not worth saving; it can also be taken to mean that we cannot trust God to deliver.
Countering the enemy. The psalmist counters the claim of the enemy in ways that remain instructive to us. He relies on past experience of God’s deliverance to provide the foundation of confidence for the present. It is here that the NIV translation of verse 4 somewhat obscures the point. What the psalmist is clearly saying is that whenever (in the past, present, and future) he calls on Yahweh, Yahweh always has answered and will answer him. This is not simply blind trust or even trust based on unconfirmed experience; rather, this is trust grounded on God’s acts of deliverance.
Often in the middle of the fray it is difficult to remember how God has earlier acted to save us. The present is all-consuming and the danger too real and present. That is why we need other means of remembering who God is and how he has benefited us. Scripture is a key testimony to the faithful and gracious intent of God to save us. Reading Scripture brings us again and again into contact with the history of God’s relations with humanity and the world. A wholistic reading of Scripture can leave us with no doubt that God invests humans with great dignity, honor, and purpose from creation to the end of Revelation.
It is also clear in Scripture that God’s intention for humanity and the world is good—blessing. In all that he does, Scripture teaches us, God is working for the good of humanity, binding human beings ever closer into the ultimate blessing that is his intention for all creation. God will not be dissuaded or frustrated from accomplishing what he intends for humanity, even by human sin that seeks to destroy us from within or by human evil that seeks our destruction from without. As the psalmist concludes in verse 8, “From the LORD comes deliverance” (or better, “Deliverance belongs to the LORD”). He will not be denied.
Along with Scripture and its testimony to the goodwill of God and his power to save, we also need the community of the faithful to add their witness to the saving acts of Yahweh. Sometimes our ability to look to our own experience of the saving grace of God is weakened by the painful experience of the present. That is when we need others who can speak a word of hope, grace, and deliverance to us from their own experience. That is the power of community—of life together.
Finally, Psalm 3 challenges us to acknowledge our own moments of anger and hatred and calls us to turn them from cries of vengeance on our enemies into pleas for God to deliver the faithful and to establish his justice. When we have been wounded terribly, it becomes difficult—almost impossible, really—to distinguish our cries for justice (which honors the order and righteousness that God intends for our world) from our desire for vengeance (which satisfies our anger and assuages the pain deep within our nepeš).
The psalmist’s pleas for God to strike the enemies on the jaw and break the teeth of the wicked has a self-serving edge. It is a cry for vengeance with which we have every right to be uncomfortable. Rather than justifying our own desires for vengeance in which our pain is balanced by exacting an equal or greater pain from another, it ought to drive us to seek the mercy of God that forgives and reconciles and restores the purpose he has for all humanity.
THE LAMENTS
While examples of the lament form occur throughout the book of Psalms, this category particularly dominates the first two-thirds of the canonical Psalter. As a result, this segment of the collection (Books 1–3 [Pss. 1–89]) perhaps reflects most clearly the initial painful response of Israel to the devastation of the Exile. While specific laments (whether individual or corporate) may reflect a variety of original settings and circumstances, the editorial decision to group them in such concentration permeates these first three books with the sense of sadness, longing, frustration, anger, and desire for vengeance that surely mirrored the experience of exilic Israel (see, e.g., Pss. 79; 89).
What is particularly true of these laments in the first three books is also true of the rest of the laments scattered throughout the Psalter. Some of them exhibit explicit awareness of the exilic experience (Pss. 74; 89; 137; cf. 107). Others, while originally referring to some distinctly different circumstance, have been adapted, either by their later use or by purposeful editorial reshaping, to make additional reference to the formative national experience of the Exile.
This is especially noticeable when an individual psalm of lament is redirected at the end by the addition of a corporate plea for restoration from Exile (cf. Pss. 14 [also 53]; 25; 28; 31; 69). This reuse or reshaping of such laments does not completely obscure or replace the original context of these psalms, but it does illustrate just how greatly Israel’s experience of exile influenced her understanding of her emerging new identity in the exilic and postexilic periods. The psalms (and especially the laments) illustrate how a literature composed to speak to an earlier and different context could be adapted and reappropriated to speak anew to a later circumstance. This illustration serves to illumine the similar history of shaping and reshaping of sacred texts to meet the changing needs in the lives of the faithful.
Because the lament is the dominant type of composition in the first three books of the Psalter, it is important to lay out what can be known about the lament form and how the laments are to be distinguished from the competing primary forms delineated by Gunkel and his successors: praise and thanksgiving psalms. In what follows, I will consider first the form of the lament as a genre category and then discuss the occasion of the laments, including the enemy and the speaker encountered in them.
At the most general level, the three major psalm-types (praise, lament, and thanksgiving) share a rather simple common formal structure. Each includes an introduction, a body, and a conclusion. While these formal elements are the same, however, it is the content of each section that distinguishes lament from praise, and both from thanksgiving.
Introduction. For the laments, the introduction is most often characterized by a first-person cry to God—an invocation—in which the distressed speaker (individual or corporate) calls on God directly to hear and respond to a plea for deliverance. “Give ear to my words, O LORD, consider my sighing. Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray” (5:1–2). This cry frequently includes questions directed to God: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (22:1); “How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?” (13:1); or requests for divine action in behalf of the supplicant: “Contend, O LORD, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me. Take up shield and buckler; arise and come to my aid” (35:1–2).
The introduction of the lament establishes the speaker’s dependence on Yahweh and the expectation that he will deliver those who fear and trust in him. Even in the most pessimistic of laments (e.g., Ps. 88) this sense of dependence is displayed by the psalmist’s reluctant willingness to carry the problem of a seemingly distant and hostile God directly to the divine source in hopes of a resolution. As desperate as the situation is, as little hope as there seems to be that God (who is steadfastly depicted as the enemy) will now turn in grace and deliverance, the psalmist of Psalm 88 (and all the other laments, I suggest) ultimately realizes there is no other alternative but to come to Yahweh. This states the dependence issue in its most stark and honest form, for even when there seems to be no hope, the psalmists continue their conversation with Yahweh—because there is no other, a mighty God to save.14
The other side of the introduction to the laments is that they also represent hope. With all their questioning frustration with the apparent delay in divine response, the psalm writers consistently expect Yahweh to act. They know he is a mighty God capable of saving;15 they know his merciful character from long experience and anticipate an outpouring of his grace once more. We need to remember that these collected laments were gathered, copied, transmitted, and preserved throughout the centuries in order to serve as a resource to those who would read them, recite them, and pray them again and again.
These are not just records of historical suffering and frustration (although they do open a window on that experience). They function on one important level as instruction and models in carrying on a faithful conversation with the maker of the universe. As such they offer hope that in occupying a position of absolute dependence on Yahweh (what Israel called “fear of Yahweh”), people receive benefit from being at one with the purpose of God at work in the world.
Body. Having petitioned the attention and response of Yahweh in the introductory invocation, the laments now turn to the central and more specific concerns of their plea. Often the distinctive character of the body of a lament is marked by the rehearsal of a narrative of the suffering that the narrator is currently experiencing. Slander, sickness, sin, famine, political upheaval, and legal accusations can all be at the root of a lament’s pain.
Ruthless witnesses come forward;
they question me on things I know nothing about.
They repay me evil for good
and leave my soul forlorn. . . .
But when I stumbled, they gathered in glee;
attackers gathered against me when I was unaware.
They slandered me without ceasing.
Like the ungodly they maliciously mocked;
they gnashed their teeth at me.
—Psalm 35:11–12, 15–16
While the body of a lament most often gives an account of the distress the psalmist faces, that narrative can be punctuated with questions directed toward God’s continued absence or delay.
O Lord, how long will you look on?
Rescue my life from their ravages.
—Psalm 35:17
But now, Lord, what do I look for?
My hope is in you.
—Psalm 39:7
How long will the enemy mock you, O God?
Will the foe revile your name forever?
Why do you hold back your hand, your right hand?
Take it from the folds of your garment and destroy them!
—Psalm 74:10–11
How long, O LORD? Will you be angry forever?
How long will your jealousy burn like fire?
—Psalm 79:5
Such verses capture the sense of dismay and longing that occupy the thoughts of the psalmists in distress, wandering between fear and hope. They acknowledge that Yahweh is a mighty God, righteous in his character, rejecting evil, and purposing good for his faithful people. Yet the present experience of the psalmist is of divine distance and delay in the face of continued suffering. These questions bring this tension to articulation with hope of breaking the impasse.
We also find, scattered through the narrative of suffering in the body of the laments, petitions that approach God for favor, deliverance, and retribution on the enemy. There is in these psalms a sense that all is not right, that the proper order of life needs to be reestablished by God. Since God is capable of restoring that order and yet delays, the psalmists feel out of favor with him. Thus, there are many pleas for Yahweh to regard the faithful and grant them his grace:
Restore us, O God;
make your face shine upon us,
that we may be saved.
—Psalm 80:3; cf. vv. 7, 19
But I pray to you, O LORD,
in the time of your favor;
in your great love, O God,
answer me with your sure salvation. . . .
Answer me, O LORD, out of the goodness of your love;
in your great mercy turn to me.
—Psalm 69:13, 16
Likewise, deliverance is never far from the psalmists’ minds during the recitation of their narrative of suffering:
Experience of suffering and divine distance drives the psalmists toward God rather than away from him. They seek to awaken God to their need, to hasten his approach, and to ensure his action in their behalf.
Finally, there are within the narratives of suffering frequent petitions for God’s power to be expended in retributive actions against those who oppose the psalmist and frustrate the divine will in the world. The psalmists speak with unvarnished clarity of purpose:
May the table set before them become a snare;
may it become retribution and a trap.
May their eyes be darkened so they cannot see,
and their backs be bent forever.
Pour out your wrath on them;
let your fierce anger overtake them.
May their place be deserted;
let there be no one to dwell in their tents. . . .
Charge them with crime upon crime;
do not let them share in your salvation.
May they be blotted out of the book of life
and not be listed with the righteous.
—Psalm 69:22–25, 27–28
May my accusers perish in shame;
may those who want to harm me
be covered with scorn and disgrace.
—Psalm 71:13
While these may seem like harsh and vengeful words (and there may well be that edge to them at many points), their preservation and reuse over many centuries in Scripture has the effect of removing these words from their original setting of personal affront, anger, and desire to “get back at” the enemy.
As readers through the ages have looked in from the outside at these harsh statements, I think two things have happened. (1) A certain permission is granted to acknowledge honestly when such anger and vengeance well up inside us in response to the pain and injustice of our own experience. Too often the New Testament commandments to love our enemies and to do good to those who persecute us lead us to pretend (even to ourselves) that we never have an angry thought or vengeful moment against those who offend us and wound us deeply. As these psalms show us, that is probably not true. We are angry, we do hate—even violently sometimes—and to “stuff that anger,” to deny that it even exists, is not Christian but a misguided attempt to hide who we in fact really are. It is something akin to claiming that we have not sinned, as 1 John 1:8–10 warns us. Permission to acknowledge our anger before God, however, is not license to act on our anger against others. Rather, as these psalms suggest, we should leave action against our enemies in the hands of God.
(2) These words force us to recognize that there are individuals and actions that stand in enmity and hostility against God’s purpose for a whole world. We ought to be angry at evidences of evil, oppression, and injustice that violate persons (including ourselves) and tear down the structures of peace and wholeness that God wants to build into our daily existence. It is right to have righteous anger and indignation in such cases. The psalmists often equate their personal enemies with God’s enemies. While this may seem self-serving—and we ought to be careful to avoid assuming that anyone who angers or offends us is an agent of evil and an enemy of God—the psalmists’ words do indicate that they are aligning themselves with his redemptive purposes in the world. It is important for the psalmists to be for God rather than for self and against those who oppose and undermine God’s will, and it should be important for us as well.
Conclusion. Having called God to attention in the introduction of these psalms and having poured out their hurt, anger, and hope in the body, the psalmists most often turn at the end to expressions of confidence and commitment:
Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter,
you will restore my life again;
from the depths of the earth
you will again bring me up.
You will increase my honor
and comfort me once again.
—Psalm 71:20–21
The LORD has heard my cry for mercy;
the LORD accepts my prayer.
All my enemies will be ashamed and dismayed;
they will turn back in sudden disgrace.
—Psalm 6:9–10
These expressions of confidence flow out of the psalmists’ understanding of the nature of Yahweh. He is not a God who desires evil for the faithful (5:4), nor is he weak and incapable of carrying out his will. Yahweh is loyal to his covenant promises. Thus, the psalmists’ statements of assurance in the face of suffering testify to their faith and dependence on the powerful, loving character of Yahweh, who alone made the universe and sustains all that is in it.
In addition, the testimony of the broader community of faith helps to shore up confidence. When an individual feels tempted to fall into despair, the faith of the community bears testimony to the faithfulness of Yahweh that remains eternally active. This is no “pie in the sky” lack of realism but an act of faithful surrender to the God who is known in the spirit and heart of humans so that—all evidence to the contrary—such knowledge cannot be shaken.
This assurance of the commitment of Yahweh leads the lamenting psalmists to make commitments of their own. Often these commitments are as simple as promises to sing God’s praises.
I will sing to the LORD,
for he has been good to me.
—Psalm 13:6
I will give thanks to the LORD because of his righteousness
and will sing praise to the name of the LORD Most High.
—Psalm 7:17
Elsewhere, however, this commitment takes on the more formal character of a vow or pledge for a public act of thanksgiving within the context of temple worship:
I will sacrifice a freewill offering to you;
I will praise your name, O LORD,
for it is good.
For he has delivered me from all my troubles,
and my eyes have looked in triumph on my foes.
—Psalm 54:6–7
I am under vows to you, O God;
I will present my thank offerings to you.
—Psalm 56:12
Then will I ever sing praise to your name
and fulfill my vows day after day.
—Psalm 61:8
With my mouth I will greatly extol the LORD;
in the great throng I will praise him.
—Psalm 109:30
Most likely the occasion for fulfilling these more formal vows would be the offering of the thanksgiving sacrifice (Heb. todah) in the temple after deliverance from trouble was accomplished. The connection between plea for deliverance and vow to praise and to offer sacrifices in the temple is even more clearly established in the thanksgiving psalms (see the discussion of thanksgiving psalms in volume 2 of this commentary).
Occasion of the Laments
As far as we can determine them, the occasions that stand behind the biblical psalms of lament are considerably varied. In the individual laments spoken by a single narrator, we encounter at the very least situations of sickness (Ps. 6), public slander (31), false legal accusations (35; 109), general enmity (3; 13; 54; 86), poverty, exploitation, and oppression (52; 53; 102), and the consequences of personal sin (51). Among the communal laments we find circumstances of national distress, including siege by enemies (83), military defeat (74; 79; 80; 137), and general societal evil (10; 12; 82), as well as the effects of famine and drought (85).
It is possible and indeed likely that over the centuries of psalm composition, many other laments were composed in response to other difficulties of life. These other psalms have not survived, however, and that may be either because of the vagaries of transmission or else because of a purposeful process of selection in which a limited collection was created by choosing those psalms most revered and traditionally influential, or those whose character and subject rendered them most adaptable to a broad range of settings and purposes.16 The occasions of the psalms are not exhaustive but rather suggestive, and they can be extended by analogy to other circumstances.
One must, however, take care to distinguish between the occasion of the suffering to which a particular psalm responds and the circumstance in which a psalm is performed—that is, the occasion from which it was produced in contrast to the occasion for which it was produced. While the goal of form criticism may seem ostensibly to be recovery of the first of these—the original experience that precipitated the psalm—it is in fact the latter situation that has often dominated form-critical discussion.
We might designate these two occasions the “original experience” and the “occasion of the performance.” You can get an idea of the difference between these two occasions by considering the different treatments of the Israelite monarchy represented by the books of Kings and the parallel accounts recorded in the Chronicler’s work. Both share the same original set of experiences (the historical events of the monarchical period), but each has a distinct “occasion of performance,” separated by at least a hundred and possibly more than 150 years. One has only to compare the narratives surrounding the transition of royal power from David to Solomon and the preparations for the building of the temple in 1 Kings 1–2 with the parallel narratives in 1 Chronicles 28–29 to observe the radically distinct “occasions of performance.”
In reference to the psalms, it can make a dramatic difference in interpretation whether one considers each psalm a private poem composed by an individual for personal reflection and piety, or (as do Mowinckel and his followers) a liturgical composition created for performance within a yearly festival celebrating the enthronement of Yahweh. With the laments in particular, we can see how the original experience precipitating a psalm as well as the communal worship of Israel in which the laments were most likely performed each had an influence on how the psalm was structured and the content presented.
Identity of the Enemies
Scholars have debated the identity of the “enemies” who oppose the righteous in the lament psalms.17 For the most part we can distinguish between the enemies described in the communal laments and those who populate the individual pleas for deliverance. In the former, the enemies are almost without exception non-Israelite opponents of the nation. As such they also are easily equated with enemies of Yahweh himself.
The situation is more complex in regards to the individual laments. Mowinckel and his followers have attempted to understand all the psalms as part of a national liturgy of enthronement of Yahweh in opposition to the cosmic forces of evil and chaos. In this view, all references to enemies, whether in individual or communal psalms, are ultimately references to these demonized cosmic forces that oppose and seek to undermine the stable creation established by Yahweh. But since Mowinckel’s construction of an enthronement festival is problematic and not generally accepted as a persuasive explanation of the background of the psalms, this view of the enemies likewise has little support. It is true, however, that in those psalms where Yahweh’s creative power is the focus, the defeat of these chaotic cosmic powers is celebrated (see esp. the Yahweh malak psalms, Pss. 93–99).
In the individual laments one must be satisfied with a more diverse understanding of those who oppose the righteous. In some instances the wicked seem to be those who stand outside God’s people and who oppose the foundations of Israel’s faith. In other cases, the opponents are clearly part of the community of faith, for they participate in the various social institutions of Israel and often seek to employ them to the detriment of the psalmists. The conflict here is between different interpretations of the faith rather than between believer and unbeliever.
The same is true of legal conflicts in which the psalmist is accused in court or confounded through false testimony. The wicked are Israelites exploiting the traditional legal structures for their own benefit. The situation is akin to Jezebel’s exploitation of the Israelite legal system through false testimony that condemned Naboth to death and cleared the way to Ahab’s acquisition of Naboth’s vineyard. Once again, the calumny of the enemy is heightened in these circumstances because they are part of God’s people and yet are manipulating the covenant structures to oppress and defraud their fellow citizens.
In some psalms of internal Israelite affairs, class power and privilege are at issue. The psalmists on occasion take the ruling elite to task for their failure to protect the rights of the more helpless elements of society: the poor and needy, widows, orphans, and even resident aliens.
The interpretation of the enemies in the individual psalms is sometimes complicated by the long history of collection, reuse, preservation, and adaptation of earlier psalms for the needs and purposes of the exilic community. This can be seen particularly clearly in Psalms 9–10, where apparently original references to more localized Israelite enemies of the psalmist are reinterpreted as “the nations” who oppose the people of God (see comments on these psalms).
The upshot of this discussion is the realization that all the enemies of God’s people are certainly not out there among unbelieving society. Often the righteous must acknowledge that their greatest opposition comes from within—from those who claim the faith and yet twist and distort their interpretation of the essentials of faith to accomplish their own personal goals and benefits. The psalmists, like Job, realize that often the righteous must remain faithful even when the community of faith refuses to acknowledge their righteousness. It can also lead us to understand how God can call faithful individuals to confront and challenge distortions of the faith accepted by the elite leaders or even by the majority of the community of faith.